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The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1825-1827, December 07, 1826, Image 1

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«Wished, every Thursday by WILLIAM A. MENDENHALL , No. 81, Market- st. (three doors above the Farmer's Bank,)—;t7»where Subscriptions, Jobs and. Advertisements, will be gratefull^received.^ fl
No. 12
nnt exceeding 11
,e square will be inserted four times for one |
,\lar and 20 cents for each subsequent inser- j
! '.If continued for three months, $2 SO—for
X months, $4 50; or for one year $8.
qV Subscribers are entitled to the privilege of
ving their names, place of residence, and occu
tion. inserted in the Register, on atib.
terms of s iruse it ip thin ,—to those
ho receive this paper by mail, turn dollars, and
lose who do not, two dollars and twenty-five cents
year, in advance: If not paid in advance, F2 50
ill be charged; and if not paid before the expi
ition of tlie year, $3. , ,
TTNo Subscription will be discontinnediiniess
no wcek'snotice is given and all arrearages are
CIn Six Sounds. J
In Beauty's cheek the burning flush was see»,
led Fever's signal; and her beaming e\ e
til heavy look'd, and drooping as the so.y,
y hen April's clouds surcharge their blue serene ;
Sudden had it come, dread harbinger ot woe,
That wild disease: half shutter'd from 'ne day
n twilight gloom the gentle matr
)n a low couch with coverlid of snow.
1er eldest child, a blooming girl of eight,
late at her head, with eyes that told ot tears;
And ah! too young to feel Affliction s weight,
Two babes— lier miniatures—devout ot tears
l'lay'd on the floor, unheeding wliat dire täte,
Darkly might destine for approaching years.
lerenely o'er her mother's couch she hung,
4ot yet—not yet tlie victim of despair :
One snowy hand, across her brow was flung,
1er fingers twined amid lier auburn hair;
1er voice, as tender and as tremulous
ks distant music on tlie moonlight sea,
3 pake still of joys to come, and ever thus
our'd on each wound a balsam gushing tree;
non her bright blue eyes she lifted up,
nd took the low-flamed taper as the chime
of midnight hymn'd the inarch ot
Time, .
o bring, with sleepless zeal, thé medicine-cup,
[1er care was all lier mother: and lier check
[Jnrosed was pale, and, as a snow-drop, ineek.
iwift fled the rein of hope; hour after hour
Jeheldher withering in uncheck'd decay,
iilent she yielded to tlie demon's sway,
'neath the whelming tempest bends tlie
Mo vain repining* rose, no wild regret,
So unavailing tears were madly shed,
?, rief for the babes that liung around lier bed,
Whose fostering sun was now about to set,
Mone disturb'd her miml; yet beautiful
The outlines of her features marbly show'd,
knd Death seemed lingering, ere he dared an
iuch excellence; at times alt crimson glow'd
1er cheek, then paled. Time, in her cup, was
'hey watched, and, lo! her soul had flown to
iilent was that lone room in which she lay,
,;nd o'er tlie heart an awful feeling stole;
Tib Btrange, when vanishes the deathless soul.
That fear should liovqr o'er its shell of clay;
Here Beauty had a home but yesterday,
And now decay is paramount—tlie goal
OfLife attained, and all its windings o'er,
Wrecks do we lie upon Oblivion's shore;
Suns set and rise—earth stirs—and seasons
But not for us, of whom no trace survives,
Save in the friends that years must soon estrange;
For thought must follow where occasion drives;
Bee-like, afar for pleasure do we range,
While clouds and sunshine checquer o'er our
'he husband hath returned to find her dead,
lis dear loved wife; this earth is now for him
lut a huge sepulchre, all wildly grim,
Lnd in his woe lie pats each orphan'd head,
looks on each face that tells him of the past,
Lnd presses little hands that throng his knees,—
I These are thy pladgcs, and my hopes are
I these,
lost wife;—Almighty Father! on them cast
I favourable eye; oh! shield their youth
lieir helpless days from Error's snares and Sin,
Biat, guided by thy light, which glows within,
■1 steadfast may they cling to thee in truth ! "—
■lus ponders he, thus prays, and hopes begin
K> cheer him, and Religion's balm to soothe.
■ reminiscence.
mourning weeds
i* funeral day arrives :
le household are array'd, and tears are shed
those, who long have shared the family bread,
thankful love, which kindness ever breeds,
s! these are real mourners. Pomp await
r ever on the wealthy, good or had;
it here an hundred hearts were justly sad
hen passed the solemn pageant from tlie gate.
i_en did the husband feel his widowhood:
iildren their mother dead bewail'd in vain;
falle white-haired paupers rueful eyed the train,
ssing the Christian hand that dealt them food.
!, Virtue ! surely thine is real gain,
|r Vice itself does reverence to the good!
Iweary time thou'st been away—
And yet I sec thee, hear thee still;
|y form Is with me night and day
And thoughts of thee my bosom fifli
fine image is to me like air,
k it surrounds me every where.
Lever sleep, but thou dost show
I'hy lovely face to me in dreams;
fcver Fake, but thou dost throw
■hine own bright smile, midst morning's
■ beams;
B all X think, or feel, or see,
B ever something like to thee.
Br thee in the whisp'ring breeze,
Hd in the song of forest birds;
^kature's richest melodies
^■e learn'd the music of thy words-;
^Baters, earth and heaven agree
with thv voice to me.
wliose drama of life has been a scries of in
, . , ,
suit against the God of his oeing, and a pi e
sumptuous banter to divine justice, he is fil
led with dark forebodings, his spirit quails
at its own anticipations, and his convulsive
Ka 3
11 see thee in the tall trees, when
They bend to meet the coming storm,
For in their waving beauty then,
They imitate thy graceful form :
The moon-beams of thine eyes repair,
And gain more touching softness there.
And noon, and night, and morn, and even,
Have all some loveliness ofthine;
Vet, though sucli semblances are given,
I still must murmur and repine;
For all! they do not—cannot give
The joys that in thy presence live.
"Tlie chamber where the good man meets his
fate, ,
Is privileg'd beyond tlie common walk
Of virtuous life,—quite ill the verge of heaven..'
Could mankind fully realize the contrast
between the wicked and virtuous, as exhib
ited in "the inevitable hour" of transient
mortality, it would be productive efthe most
lasting impressions.
At the close, in the last scene of him,
"Start up alarm';!, and
Look down—oil vli.il'
A dread eternity!"
I But with the good man, when ttic "king of
! terrors" is about to snap the silver cord of
I his existence, and loose tlie threads that
I hind him to an erring and apostate world,
j lie can look with complacency at his ap
proach, and rejoice that in it, lie is enabled
to exemplify "the peace in which a Chris
tian can die." Faith, to him ''is the evidence
of things not seen," and buoyed up in its
strength, he catches refreshing glimpses of
an ineffable glory—and eternity !—to which
time is but
's narrow verge
miless abyss!
tile bud ofbeing, the dim dawn,
Tlie twilight of our day, tlie vestibule.
With the receding world, its troubles and
cares, anxieties and delusions fade away;
save the reflection which attends the eman
cipated spirit, in the fruition ol expected
joys, that he is now for removed from their
influence, while tlie few moments of happi
ness enjoyed on earth are beheld, "few and
far between," like little verdant isles, amid
the wild heavings of the restless ocean.
Yet, this prospect of life will serve to en
hance the pure and unmingled bliss of Hea
ven, by contrasting what he once was—with
what he now is.
In the view of such a scene, our souls
should be constrained to cry, "Lord let me
die the death of the righteous, and let my I
last end be like his."
Travels and Residence in the Mississippi in a Se
ries of Letters.
A very entertaining book, bearing theabove
title, lias been published by Cummings,
Hilliard, & Co. Its author is the Rev. Tim
othy Flint, Principal of the Seminary, Ra
pide, Louisiana, and a relative of the Rev.
Dr. Flint, of Salem, to whom the letters are
He has interwoven bis narative with ma
ny incidents from real life, which might well
pass, among tlioseiinacquainted with tlie pe
culiar situation in which he was placed for
fictions of romance.
The subjoined quotations are of this char- j
acter, and will, no doubt, excite a curiosity
in the reader, to become further acquainted j
with this entertaining writer. I
He gives the following account of the stern
and resolute courage, exhibited by a French
family whom he knew, in defending a little
palisade, against the attack of a large body
of savages :
4t I will relate one case of this sort, because
I knew the party, anti lest I become tire
some on this head, will close this kind of de
tail. The name of the hero in question was
Baptiste Roy, a Frenchman, who solicited,
and, I am sorry to say, in vain, a compensa
tion for his bravery from Congress, it oc
c.urred at "Cote sans Dessein," on the Mis
souri. A numerous band of Northern sava
ges, amounting to four hundred, beset tlie
garrison house, into which he, his ivite, am!
another man retreated. They were hunters
bv profession, and had powder, lead, and four
rifles in the house. They immediately he
gan to fire upon tlie Indians. The wife
melted and moulded the lead, and assisted
in loading, occasionally taking her shot with
the other two. Every Indian that approach
ed the house was sure to fall. The wife
relates that tlie gnus would soon become too
much heated to Hold in the hand. Water
was necessary to cool them. It was, (think,
on the second day of the siege that Roy's
assistant was kiileil He became impatient
to look on tlie scene of execution, and sec
what thry had done. He put His eye to the
port hole, and a well aimed shot destroyed
him. The Indians perceived that their shot
had taken effect, and gave a yell of exul
tation. They were encouraged by the
momentary slackening of the fire to ap
proachthe house, and fire it over the
heads of Roy and his wife. He deliberate
ly mounted the 1 -oof, knocked off the burn
ing boards, and escaped untouched from the
shower of balls. What must have been the
nights of this husband and wife? After four
days of unavailing seige, tlie Indians gave a
yell exclaiming that the house was a "grand
medicine," meaning that it was charmed
and impregnable, and went away. They
left behind forty bodies, to attest the marks
manship and steadiness of the besieged, and
a peck of balls collected from the logs of the
No one can read without emotion the sto
ry which he has given of an interesting
daughter of one of his neighbors, of whose
hospitality the writer had frequently par
"Just on the edge of these fields, six cab
ins were occupied by the family, its servants,
and establishments, which, seen in the dis
tance, had the appearance of so many bee
hives. The family was frorp, Western Vir
ginia, or that part of the State which lies
west ot the mountains, and was of Scotch
descent. It consisted of the husband, wife,
and six children; am! a group of more beau
tiful children I have never seen. The pa
rents were hospitable and courteous, and
had seen society enough to know its farms,
but not of that sort to render them affected
or fastidious. The piety of these amiable
People was not often blazoned in their con
versation. It seemed a living principle.
The stranger came in, and was so welr.om
t*d as to feel himseif at home. I he circle
that assembled around their evening fire,
enterec j j n t 0 conversations, that were cordial
a ml exhilirating. The fare, too, wans such
in all respects,—although furnished in a cab
in,—as is not often found in sumptuous dwel
lings. In this house I have passed mauy
pleasant days.
"Whenever the name of the oldest daugh
ter is mentioned in my family a visible
gloom comes over their countenances. She
was long a pupil in my family. From the
first of her residence with us she was an ob
ject of general attention, for she was beauti
ful, the rose of the prairie, and she was at
the most interesting period of life, and she
was gay, and untamed in the possession of
an uncontrolled flow of spirits, and as buoy
ant as the dawn of her own prairie. The
regulations of a religious family in that re
gion differ widely from ours. When she
first resided with us, she was disposed to
consider our rules as odious, and our restric
tions as tvranny. But, in the progress of
lier studies, and of more mature acquaint
ance, she became tranquil, satisfit ci and stn
diotis, exhibiting an affectionate submission,
that endeared her to us all. She soon be
came to me as one of my children. A con
versation which I had with her during that
severe sickness, which I have mentioned,
will long be remembered in my family.
Contrary to all our expectations, I recover
ed, and had the satisfaction,to see the pen
sivethoughtfulness, that had long been gath
ering on lier brow, assume the form of pie
ty and religion. When we were about to
depart from that region for the Arkansas,
her parting from my family was affection
ate and solemn: I crossed the Missouri
with lier, and listened with delight to her
views, her resolutions, and the plans which
she pi-oposed for her future life. You will,
believe, that they were not less interesting
to me, for being seasoned with a piece of ro
mance. But she laid down, as the outline,
the steady and unalterable guidance of re
ligion. The counsels which I gave her, as
we were crossing the stream, were of course
paternal and affectionate, fnr I expected to
meet her no more. The ferryman was a
flippant and unfeeling Frcncman, who un
derstood not a word of our conversation, bnt
marking her tears concluded I was scolding
her. He had a saucy frankness of taking
every one to account, and when I returned,
he began to chide me for scolding such a
beautiful girl. As lie understood it, I had
been giving her stern lessons and harsh coun
sels, which had been the cause of her tears.
"Why should I refrain from giving a few
more details of this interesting young woman,
tiirough fear that this page should take the
form of a romance. You have repeatedly
, pressed upon me, to go boldly and minutely
! into the history ot all that Iihave seen, en
My mind and my memo
j joyed, or suffered,
ry suggest in the case of this young person,
j so dear to my family, far more than| I shall
I relate, and instead of wishing to colour, I
shall be obliged to touch only the remaining
incidents of lier short career. There resid
ed in her father's family a very respectable
young man. He was rather silent and re
served in his manners, but thinking, intelli
gent, and of a very different cast from the
voting men in his vicinity. Still, he was not
exactly calculated to win the affections of a
beautiful young woman,jin whose mind there
was, perhaps, but one obliquity, and that
had been caused by the perusal ot the nov
els of that day. He was not her hero, her
"beau ideal*" We knew his worth. We
knew his true and honorable affection, truly
and honorably expressed. He was in a re
spectable employment, and looked to the
very lucrative and respectable office, which
he has since held in the county of St. Louis,
Mrs. F., who knew the wishes of her pa
rents, labored the point with her, that the
prospect of good sense, fidelity, tried affec
tion, and honorable support, were the best
guarantees of happiness in the wedded state,
It was not easy to dispel the day dreams
whicli she had fostered from the idle read
ing of the day. But the growing influence
of religion, there grew up also more sober
and just surveys of life, and its duties, and a
stronger wish to gratitv her parents in the
first desire of their hearts. Shewasengag
cd to tilts voung man, and on my return witn
my family from Arkansas, I heard with
great pleasure that she was shortly to re
ward his honorable and persevering attach
ment, with her hand.
The wedding clay was fixed, and sober
expectation of tranquility and happiness,
The charming and endeared eldest daughter
was to be fixed near the plantation of her
father. Another square with its compart
ments of verdure, was to be struck out of
the brown of the heath. Envy no man, if
it be not the father that so settles beloved
children around him. This young man, in j
view of his prospects, probably envied n» 1
man. She was suddenly seized with one of
the terrible fevers of the countvy, which riot
so fatally in a frame so elastic and healthful
as hers. It ought to cheer us, that we may
lay hold of a recourse, which will enable us
to triumph over human passions and fears,
over love and death. The sincerity of her
religion was tested in this way.
"She called her lover to her bed, and took
of him the tenderest parting. She sang with
the family the simple, but' sweet hymn, so
common in that country, and in which she
delighted when in health—'The day is
past and gone,' 8cc. She bade them fare
well, and closed her eyes in peace upon all
the joyful prospects that were opening before
tier. Circumstances, not necesssry to de
tail, compelled them to make her bridal
dress her shroud. The father, the mother,
soon followed this daughter, too dearly lov
ed, too deeply lamented. I have been in
view of this desolate habitation, but I have
not wished to enter it. I have felt more in
tensely than ever, as I saw these cabins a
gain, the pathetic close of the story of'Paul
and Virginia,'
The most productive quisckilver mine in
the world, is ut Idria, in Carniolo, in the
dominions of the emperor of Austria. This
mine has been worked 400 years, and is 700
feet deep. The good ores contain from 65
75 per cent of pure quicksilver and the mer
cury is sometimes found in apure state issu
ing-in a slender stream from some fissure in
the rocks. The ore, after pounded and
washed, is placed over a furnace in the
roasting oven, where the action of the fire
separates the quicksilver from the other
substances; it rises sublimated along with
the smoke, and passes through winding flues,
until it cools and descends into hallows made
to receive it. The quicksilver is then pack
ed in sheep or goat skin bags. The mine
now employs 4Ù0 hands, (in its flourishing
state it gave bread to 1200 men,) produces
annually 336,000 lbs. of quicksilver, and
yields a profit to the government of 00,000
In 1803 a fire originated in the wood work
of the mine, and for five weeks the fire rag
ed in the bowels of the earth with the great
est fury; when the shafts were opened, the
smoke, filled with mercurial and sulphurous
exhalation rolled forth and struck down eve
ry one that came within its reach. As a
last resource the director turned in a stream
of water and allowed it to flow two days; in
the course of the second day, in consequence
of the production of steam, or the kindling
of inflammable air, an explosion took place,
which shook the mountain, rent the huts of
the miners, started houses from farther off
their foundations, and made the panic struck
inhabitants fly in dismay; it was a splendid
artificial earthquake. The fire was extin
guished, but it required two years to pump
out the water. It was carried off into the
river Idria, and contained so much vitriol
and iron, that every fish disappeared from
the river except the eel, which bids defi
ance to any thing but actual broiling or roast
Mr. Russel, from whose 'Tour' we have
collected the foregoing facts, descended into
the mine by one of the inclined shafts, where
there are successive flights of steps all the
way, as regular as in a private dwelling.—
He says it is necessary for the visiter to
leave behind watches, rings, snuffboxes, &.c.
winch would infalliably be affected by the
quicksilver. Two fashionable ladies, who
went down during tlie Congress in the neigh
boring Laybach, returned, tlie one with her
gold watch converted into a tin trinket, and
the fair cheeks and neck of the other were
made black with the sulphur. Some of tlie
mining operations produce convulsions, and
the mercury generally discolors and destroys
the teeth. The wages ot the miners are ve
ry small, they are always in a state of des
titution and their lives are short.— Ilumji.
I The power of presentiment is extraordm
ary. During the reigll of terror in France,
the Baron of Marivet was continually tnr
mented, by the apprehension that he should
die upon a scaffold. All the cares cf his
wife were employed unsuccessfully to calm
hiw tears. He sometimes indulged himself
with the hope, that if his birth-day passed
a without his being arrested, he should be de
livered from the weight wcich pressed up
on his heart, and might, perhaps, be saved,
Upon one occasion, he gazed, in a fit ot deep
melancholy, upon his son, who was then, a
bout two years old, and exclaimed, "I shall
never live to see this child m male cloth
ing,"—an observation which his lady care
fully treasured up in her memory.—The
horror of the Revolution appeared at length
to draw to a close, and the birth-day of the
Baron de Marivet had arrived. His wife
was preprnng a little feast tor him upon the
occasion, and the hour of supper fixed npon
for enjoying it. W ishmg to give her 1ms
hand an agreeable surprise and to belie Ins
presentments, Madame de Marivet about 11
o clock Wien they weie just selling the
dessert, left the table, and returning in a
few moments after with her son in her arms,
a dressed like a sailor, she gave him to her
husband, whom she tenderly embraced, and
exclaimed, "You now see your son, my dear,
in man's clothing, and your birth-day has al
ready passed."—"Not yet!" was his reply:
"midnight has not struck! His friends
shuddered at the words and anxiously turn
ed their eyes upon a time-piece, the fingers
of which they silently regarded, as they
moved toward the wished-tor hour. M. de
Marivet turned pale; all who surrounded
him were struck with terror. I he door o
pened, and gave admission to the emissaries
of the Revolutionary Committee, who were
if come to seize him. M. de la C... whom, in
a letter he had advised to emigrate, had not
j taken the precaution to destroy His papers. ]
1 After h:s departure, they had been trans
ported, among other effects, to the house of
M. de Piepape, his grandfather. The latter
had been imprisoned on suspicion, and seals
had been placed upon the property at his
house. He died in prison; and the agents
of the Committee, who were present wljen
the seals were removed, found, in an earth
en-vessel, amongst some torn papers which
were destined to be burnt, the letter in
which Monsieur de Marivet advised M. de
C. to emigrate. This letter was his sentence
of condemnation. Monsieur de Marivet
was summoned befere the revolutionary
tribunal, condemned to death, and lost his
head upon the scaffold just before Thermi
From the eleventh number of the series
of interesting papers under the title ai Motet
on Kentucky, illustrative of the early histo
ry of that State, and now publishing in the
Lexington Gazette, we make the following
Early one morning in the year 1781, Mr.
Alexander M'C.onnell,* who resided in the
neighborhood of Lexington, wandered into
the woods on foot in pursuit of game. Hav
ing succeeded in killing a deer at a distance
from home, he found it necessary to return
for a horse on which to carry it off. While
lie was gone five Indians came to the spot
where the deer lay. and naturally concluded
that some one would soon return thither for
it. Three of them remained to watch it,
and two placed themselves in ambuscade
near the path along which they rightly sup
posed the huntman would pass. As he rode,
therefore, near the place of concealment,
they shot at him, killed the horse under him,
and consequently took him prisoner. For
several days he travelled quietly with them,
and as he had a good rifle, and was an ex
cellent marksman, they required him- to
shoot deer, buffaloe. See. for them. At
night, however, they used the precaution of
having him tightly bound by each arm, and
the rope attached thereto, carefully passed
under their bodies as they lay on each side
of him. For some time he quietly submit«
ted to this treatment, but at length ventured
to complain that he was bound too tight, and
to beg that the cords might be tied aboot
him more loosely. The confidence of the
savages increasing, and their apprehension
of his escape diminishing, they yielded to hie
request, but still continued to bind him at
night in the same manner, though not so
closely as at first.
One night when the party had reached the
Ohio, and when he thought it necessary, if
possible, to make his escape, he observed a
knife lying near his feet as lit? was fixed iu
his position for the night. With considera
ble difficulty and the imminent haeard of a
wakening the savages who were snoring a
round him, and who were connected to the
rope by which he was bound, he at length
succeeded in drawing the knife with his
feet until he could reach it with his hand,
when he cut the cord that confined him, and
was enabled to rise. His first thought then
was to run off, and leave the Indians asleep;
but upon reflection he conceived that it
would he impossible for him to escape in this
way, as they would probably soon awake,
ami rapidly pursue him. He therefore came
to the heroic and almost desperate resolu
tion, to endeavor to kill the five Indians cv
as many of them as he could. With the ut
most coolness he proceeded to examine their
guns, which he perceived lying together,
primed them and put them in good order for
service. He then disguised himself by put
ting on a coat belonging to the Indians and
fixing a tomahawk and scalping knife in his
belt, and placed his own rifle at a distance off
where tlie savages would not be likely to ob
it, but where he himself could instant
ploit of \. M'Connell, may be seen in the West,
] era Review, for Ap;!', 18 n, and was. Furnishes;
bv tiimseU
ly find it. All these preparations were made
moment, when five Indians were
sleeping by him, and when the waking ol
either of them would have been to him in
stant death.
All things being ready, he proceeded to
make the assault. He took two guns, one in
each hand, and he placed their muzzles on
the breasts of two Indians who were lying
on each side ot the spot where lie had been,
and shot them both at once. The others,
as he expected, being awakened by the
noise, sprang up and stared in amazement.—
With a thircl gun he instantly shot at two of
them, who were close together, killed one
as he afterwards had reason to believe, and
mortally wounded the other. The fifth In
dian, seeing his companions lying dead about
him, and not knowing where to find his arms,
and probably, in the confusion of the scene,
uncertain by how many lie was assailed,
precipitately fled. Mr. M'Connell, therefore,
was left in quiet possession of the field. Not
feeling inclined, however, to fight any more
such battles, he took his rifle and proceeded
expeditiously towards home, where, after a
tedious and painful journey, he safely ar
rived, to the great joy of his friends, who
had begun to despair of ever seeing him a
Some little time afterwards, Mrs. Dunlap,
;i lady of respectability, who had been taken
by the Indians, and retained a prisoner a
mong them, on Mad River, in the State of
Ohio, made her escape and returned home
to tlie neighborhood of Lexington, She stat
ed that shortly after the time when Mr.
M'Connell made his successful and desper
ate assault, one Indian, out of five who had
made a journey towards Lexington, return
itli an account that they had taken a
white man prisoner, and had brought him as
far as the Ohio river, when, in the night,
while they were asleep, they were suddenly
attacked by a party of whites, who killed afl
his companions, and likewise the poor de
fenceless prisoner, who was laying on hi?
back tightly bound with cords.
•This account of the very extraordinary eîr-

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